


The Perils of Ferelden Ale

by Syrum



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Biting, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fetish, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Restraints, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken fumble one night leaves Cullen unable to so much as look at Dorian, wracked with shame and guilt, with the mage convinced it's entirely his fault.  They are left hurting and confused, running from the fears that plague them, the past coming back to haunt both men as they struggle to come to terms with what has changed between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stumbling

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Possible dubcon, as there's alcohol involved, and some rough non-penetrative sex for this chapter.

The day had been long and arduous, though nevertheless successful, with an entire squadron of Red Templars all but destroyed and the Inquisitor victorious once again. It had called for a celebration, albeit a reasonably small one, and while Dorian wasn’t entirely certain how he had gotten roped into attending he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the company or the free drinks. Despite his origins, and his penchant for the magical arts, somehow he had become the hero of the hour - or one of them, at least. Bull, Varric and the Inquisitor were being treated with the same level of reverie by the troupe of traders they had rescued and subsequently recruited into the Inquisition.

The hour grew late, while the group of gathered companions simply grew. Cullen and Josephine had joined them fairly early on, and while Josie had been telling a riveting story of her last suitor’s downfall, Cassandra and Blackwall had appeared, bickering about something inane. A bark of laughter drew attention back to the table, and to the story, which drew to a close with rapturous howls from those attended. Josephine appeared pleasantly flushed at the attention, combined with the Antivan wine she was getting through at quite some pace.

“Alright, Varric’s turn.” Bull thumped the table happily, ordering more drinks. And so the night continued, quite a number of the group moving from tipsy to really rather drunk as the evening wore on. Story after story was told, some of the present and some of the past, with some that might have been made up entirely. Dorian could feel the buzz of the alcohol, his mind pleasantly fuzzy and body ever so slightly numb. He was past his usual stopping point, and he found he didn’t really mind, though the constant need of Fereldens to keep moving over to him to slap him on the back and thank him was growing rather tiresome.

“I think, that’s me out.” The mage stood on wobbly legs, his voice only ever so slightly slurred to his credit, considering how much he had imbued. “I shall see you fine fellows sometime after noon tomorrow.” Turning, he stumbled, on what he did not know, but if it had not been for the timely intervention of the Inquisitor he might have very well fallen flat on his face. 

“Someone needs to help Dorian back to his room.” The elf laughed and pushed him upright, hardly in much better condition himself.

“It’s time I went anyway, I’ll make sure he gets back safe.” Cullen was doing an entirely sub-par job of hiding his own inebriation, Dorian thankful for the man’s current state of dress - casual Ferelden tunic and pants, rather than his typical armour - as the Commander stumbled into him, almost sending them both crashing to the floor. The room erupted in peals of laughter as the mage yanked him upright and Cullen simply grinned.

“You’re in a worse state than I am.” He huffed, letting the man lean against him as they made their way to the door, throwing a quick wave back to the assembled group as they left. Cullen had draped his arm over Dorian’s shoulders, while the mage returned the gesture with his own arm wrapped around the warrior’s waist, the pair staggering forward in the vague direction of Dorian’s room. It took them some time to reach the familiar door, stumbling and giggling as they went, very nearly falling into one of the overly large and viciously spiked rose bushes that had been present when the Inquisition arrived, and no one had thought to remove. Somewhere along the way, Cullen’s head had dropped down onto Dorian’s shoulder, hot breath tickling along the mage’s collarbone, and he found himself wondering distantly whether the other man would make it, or whether he might just fall asleep then and there.

Dorian’s question was answered in a way he could never have expected. They made it, just barely, but as he shifted around to open his door with his free arm, he became inexplicably aware of fumbling teeth nipping at his neck, while Cullen’s other arm wrapped itself tightly around his waist bringing them chest to chest. The hand searching for the door handle stilled, and the mage inhaled sharply, finding himself unable to either move or protest as the mouth worrying at his throat moved slowly up, across his jaw, until he was finally and inevitably drawn into a near-violent kiss, their mouths mashing together in a tangle of teeth and tongues. He was pressed back against the cold wood of his door, held so tightly against the ex-Templar that he was struggling to breathe.

“Commander, you are exceedingly drunk.” Dorian managed to gasp when those impossibly perfect lips left his own and resumed leaving a trail of red and purple marks around his neck.

“I’m not drunk.” Came the slurred response from the blonde, pressing hard and insistent against the mage. “You had more than I did.” Dorian could not fault the Commander’s logic in that, his own head still spinning and more than a little hazed. He reached down, clicking open the door, pulling the blonde backwards into his room, garnering no protest.

“Are you quite sure you want to do this?” He finally asked, the question punctuated by a low moan as Cullen bit down, hard, surprisingly firm fingers rubbing at the growing bulge in his smalls as a hot tongue lapped at the mark on his neck.

“Too many clothes, take them off.” The warrior growled, pushing Dorian back onto the bed as he divested himself of his own attire, soon standing as naked as the day he was born in the middle of the mage’s bedroom. He was stunning, Dorian noted. A chiselled chest, sculpted from many years of Templar training and scarred from battles Cullen barely spoke of, lead down to a firm stomach, peppered with an increasing amount of blonde curls, leading the way to - oh _Maker_. Dorian swallowed, tongue swiping over his top lip even as the man approached. Cullen was particularly well gifted in that area, it seemed, and delightfully hard already.

Leaning forward from his position on the edge of the bed, Dorian took those narrow hips in hand, tugging the Commander closer, knowing distantly in the back of his mind that this was an exceedingly bad idea. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as he found his nose buried in the mass of blonde curls, breathing in the other man’s heady musk as fingers carded through his hair with a surprising, if temporary, gentleness. He nosed at the thick length, his own pulsing with need still trapped behind too many buckles and layers of fabric, earning a low groan from somewhere above his head. Taking the sound as a sign of encouragement, the mage’s pink tongue lapped at the base, before swiping slowly up the length, removing a bead of precum from the tip as kiss-swollen lips parted to suckle on the head of Cullen’s leaking shaft. The hands buried in his hair grew more insistent, pushing him down onto the thick cock while the commander’s hips snapped forward, making Dorian take more and more into his mouth until the head brushed against the back of his throat and he coughed, almost gagging, the mage placing one hand around the base of the shaft so Cullen couldn’t interrupt further.

The room was filled with sounds of moaning and wet sucking, Cullen standing with his head thrown back in ecstasy as Dorian slowly brought him off. Every now and then a metallic click would sound out, as the mage managed to one-handedly unfasten most of the clasps on his coat, an impressive feat while sober never mind after quite so many drinks.

“S-stop.” Dorian stilled almost instantly at the outburst, the head of Cullen’s cock falling from his lips with a lewd pop. For a moment, be truly believed that the man had started to have second thoughts, and his own arousal complained bitterly at the idea. Before he could voice his concerns, though, the mage found himself pushed bodily back onto the bed, all but thrown up the mattress as Cullen clambered atop him, tearing his clothes from his body with a forcefulness that he hadn’t believed the man capable of. At least two of the remaining buckles tore, a fact which he would likely lament at length in the morning, but at that precise moment he was entirely too busy trying to force too tight trousers down his legs and off, his erection blessedly free but knees still wrapped within fabric and unable to move.

“A little help please, Commander?” He protested in frustration, as Cullen went back to worrying at his neck and shoulders with teeth and lips, grinding himself into the mage’s leg, the task of divesting Dorian of his clothes seemingly entirely forgotten upon being faced with a new expanse of untouched skin.

“Sorry.” It was more of a grunt than a true apology, and there was little feeling behind it, but the warrior did as he was asked, pulling Dorian’s trousers off past his feet and inside out as he did so. As the mage made to sit up, he found the heavy weight of the blonde pressing him down into the mattress once more, hands pinned above his head as their twin arousals pushed together. Cullen was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to thrust against the solid length pressed into his stomach, all the while meshing their mouths together in a desperate kiss.

Despite the sloppiness of it all - the kiss, the halting thrusts - Dorian found that he was getting off on not simply the sensations, but the rawness of it all. He had wrapped one leg around Cullen’s waist, using it for leverage as he thrust up as best he could against the other man. The two hands holding his wrists became one as Cullen shifted them both so he could pin Dorian with just the one hand, holding just a little too tight, the weight of the heavily-muscled Commander rather substantial. A rush of heat flooded down to the mage’s cock at this, the sensation of being restrained enough to have him all but begging, even without the added sensation of Cullen’s shaft rubbing against his own.

The blonde’s now-free hand slid between them, taking hold of both of their lengths and squeezing, drawing a short, sharp cry from the mage’s throat as he started to pick up an uneven rhythm. Dorian was soon writhing beneath him, delicious moans and high-pitched cries interlaced with the occasional low whine as the mage slowly came undone. Cullen wasn’t all that far behind either, his breathing erratic, hand moving faster now as he pumped them both towards completion, slick with sweat and spit and the constant dribble of precum. Forcing his eyes tightly shut, Dorian forced back his release for as long as he could, dragging the addictive sensations out for a few precious seconds longer, before he came with a wail that bounced around the elaborately decorated bed chamber, arching up off the bed as thick white streams coated his belly and spattered across his chest. Cullen wasn’t far behind, tugging harder and faster until he too reached his peak, tumbling over with several short grunts before falling down alongside the still trembling mage.

Dorian found himself wrapped in a firm embrace, wriggling a little to get comfortable and to pull the sheets over them, caring little for the extensive mess they had made and even less for what they would have to clean up come morning. Every now and then, his body would shudder slightly, limbs limp and sated in a way he had not experienced in years. A loud snore sounded from behind him, even before he had finished adjusting the covers so they would not end up with a chill in the cold mountain air. He soon drifted off as well, held in a grip so tight it was almost as though Cullen was afraid he might slip away, leaving him alone.

It was, indeed, past noon before they awoke. Cullen first, the Commander’s head pounding after the previous night, and mind irritatingly blank of anything after his fifth drink. He groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut against the encroaching sunshine, taking a moment to realise that he was not alone. The warm body next to his own shifted and murmured something soft and unintelligible, Cullen freezing in place as he realised that it was entirely likely that he had done something incredibly stupid the previous night. With a sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach, the blonde cracked open one, then both eyes, realising belatedly that the person sleeping beside him was not only male, but also one Dorian Pavus. Said mage seemed to curl away from him as he moved back to get a better look, wishing desperately that he could recall what had happened.

As Dorian moved, the covers shifted downwards, revealing a tapestry of bruises, bites and scrapes around his throat. Cullen swallowed, his heart in his throat as he gently, so very gently, peeled back the sheet to reveal the mage’s chest, the damage continuing down for some way. Dried blood caked the skin in more than one place, where his teeth had broken through, and vicious bruises marred the tan skin of the one wrist Cullen could see. Slipping from the bed as silently as he could, Cullen pulled on his discarded clothes from the night before, glancing back only once before retreating back to his own quarters, face burning with shame.

The shuffle of fabric and light footsteps had chased away the last vestiges of sleep from the mage, long eyelashes dusting his cheeks as his eyelids fluttered open, focusing on the retreating figure in enough time to see Cullen turn, expression one of shame and embarrassment, and then leave.


	2. The Regrets of Dorian Pavus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing the chapters for this out of order, it seems! Five and six are finished, I just need to get three and four done and we're away!

Had he awoken a minute or so earlier, Dorian might have had the presence of mind and the motor functions to be able to at the very least call out to the retreating Commander, though whether he would have heeded the mage’s words was a subject still very much up for debate. As it was, the man had caught enough of a glimpse of Cullen’s expression to know that chasing after him would be a bad choice of action, even if his pride had allowed for such an act. No, the shame and regret spoke volumes, and Dorian had to wonder bitterly as to whether it was what they had done or who he had done it with that triggered such a reaction.

Groaning, not wishing to deal with his own guilt just yet, his stomach clenching in time with the pounding of his head, Dorian buried his head under his pillow and tried to drop back off to sleep. Alas, he was awake, and as he was awake his mind began to wander treacherously. He remembered most, if not all, of the previous night; the hard and needy kisses, insistent hands upon him, and the taste of the other man as he pleasured the forceful blonde. He could still taste Cullen, even now, could feel a stirring in his loins the more he thought about the warrior. Absently, the mage found himself grinding down into the mattress, knowing he was unlikely to be disturbed as he flicked privately through his own memories of their coupling.

Possible bed partners had remained sparse throughout his time with the Inquisition, partly due to the limitation of gender preference and partly because he was a Tevinter mage and not well liked as a result. In Tevinter itself, it had never been overly difficult finding a man to pass the time with, there always being someone looking to curry favour with a magister’s son, for the perks that such a trusted position would bring. It was accepted there that men should lay with other men, seen as little more than a dalliance or a way to create firm friendships, so long as the coupling did not end in bitter rivalry, as it so very often did. Slaves often serviced their masters in this way, knowing that the rewards would be great should they advance to the position of favourite, not just for themselves but for their families. 

Dorian himself always avoided the slaves, and it was a common misconception by those who knew of it that the mage saw them as beneath him. In reality, he was simply unable to feel comfortable being serviced by someone who touched him only because it was seen as their job to do so. Feelings he knew, from a very young age, were some impossible thing written about in story books by hopeless romantics. Love did not exist, not in the Imperium at least, his parents had taught him that.

And yet, Dorian insisted on reading said story books in the privacy of his room where none would see, wondering what his existence would be like were he to find someone who wanted to share their life with him. He wondered how it felt to lace fingers together, to kiss among the flowers, or to sit watching the sunset with a man who could genuinely say, and mean, those three little words he had never heard spoken to him.

This was not Tevinter, though. He often heard those words bandied about, had seen more than one couple form, fall in love, and even marry, all in his short time within Skyhold. Even the Inquisitor seemed perfectly content, gaze following the Iron Bull around whenever he believed no one was looking, with such a fond look anyone could tell the elf was head over heels for the Qunari. Dorian had no one like this, and as much as he tried not to care, he still felt very much alone. Cullen had been a break from the loneliness, though Dorian was no fool. Yes, the man was fairly obviously only interested in the fairer sex, considering the way he had firmly rejected the Inquisitor not overly long after Dorian had arrived at Haven, before Coryphius and before this mess he had gotten himself into. It didn’t matter that he was straight, though, at least not to the mage. He had a wicked sense of humour that few got to experience, he would always spare the time for anyone should they need him, and he was rather good at chess. Dorian adored their afternoons together, sitting and talking in the gardens, flirting with the Commander as they took turns moving the elaborately carved chess pieces around the board. On occasion, he had even managed to make the man blush, though Cullen hadn’t seemed to mind overly much. No, Dorian was more than happy to continue the platonic relationship they had built over the previous season, and it certainly helped that his companion was very easy on the eyes.

But then last night had happened. Cullen had been all sharp teeth and hot hands, insistent, almost desperate, and it had left Dorian writhing and gasping for more. He had known, even as it was happening, even through the haze of alcohol, that it was a mistake, that it was something they would never be able to go back from. He had been right, but he hadn’t listened to his conscience, and that left him very much alone. It was unlikely, he presumed, that he would see the Commander again outside of the scope of his work, and certainly not as friends, perhaps not even as equals.

The mage sighed and slipped a hand between his legs, grimacing at the dried remains of the previous night that still remained caked to his stomach, as he moved the dry mess occasionally catching the dark hairs there and pulling at them painfully. Still facing down into the mattress, he began to stroke at himself, picturing with a certain amount of regret the face, the body, of the blonde Commander as he brought himself off as quickly as possible. He spilled with a muffled groan onto the mattress, collapsing bonelessly and simply laying in his own mess, Cullen’s name on his lips.

He hated himself for what he had done.

Climbing slowly out of bed, Dorian used the ice-cold water on his night stand to clean away much of the evidence from his stomach and chest, the task made far more unpleasant by temperature of the room and the water, along with the sheer quantity that he needed to clean. A glance in the mirror confirmed that he looked utterly terrible; the mage had heavy bags under his eyes, as he always did after a night of heavy drinking, and both his hair and moustache were in disarray. Red and purple bruises marred the skin around his neck and chest, along with numerous bite marks and hand-shaped rings around each of his wrists. It was surprising to see how viciously the Commander had marked him, and had he been in any state to do so Dorian would likely have protested, at least to the marks that were going to be difficult to hide due to their position on his throat.

With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, he began to rummage through his selection of robes, looking for something to hide the worst of it. Magic helped somewhat on the bite marks where the skin had been broken, but he was no healer, and one spell even managed to make the hickey on the juncture between shoulder and neck bloom to twice its original size, so he gave up with that. No, he would have to hide it the traditional way, and an elaborately embroidered Tevinter scarf - a gift, from an aunt he could barely remember the face of, who rather had a thing for scarves and often sent them for his birthdays before he had left his homeland. He managed to tie it in with a cobbled-together outfit, making the look work for him so no one would be any the wiser, before heading out to find something to settle his churning stomach, certain that it wasn’t entirely the alcohol making it twist like that.


	3. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not easy to write :(

Cullen was most certainly not having a panic attack. He was not sitting on the edge of his own bed, rocking slightly, with his head in his hands and struggling to draw breath. He was the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, for Maker’s sake, and yet there he was, slowly losing control, and all he could see each time he closed his eyes was Dorian’s sleeping face. The mage was truly handsome, with high cheekbones and a square jaw, leading down to a slender neck and strong shoulders, now marred with bruises and bites inflicted by Cullen himself.

It didn’t matter how much the blonde berated himself, he knew, he could never hope to take back what he had done, in no way would he ever be able to make amends for the pain he had inflicted. Intoxication was no excuse; he knew what had happened, knew what he had done, remembered how he had forced himself upon the mage and taken what he wanted without any thought for the other man. That Dorian hadn’t outright said no was of little consequence; the mage was as inebriated as he had been, and regardless of that, he had purposefully left cuts and deep purple bruises wherever he could, like some uncontrollable animal marking its territory. Some small part of his mind questioned, if Dorian had said no, would it have mattered? Would he have stopped? He knew the answer, and he hated himself all the more for it.

Taking gasping breaths, Cullen made to stand, before collapsing back down onto the bed once more, his legs shaking too much to hold him upright. His stomach complained at a lack of food, and yet he could not bring himself to venture from his bedroom, too afraid at possibly bumping into Dorian, at seeing those accusing, betrayed eyes and witnessing once again the damage he had done. No, he would be better off remaining where he was, and that is what the Commander did, curling around himself on top of the covers atop his half-made bed. He could afford himself a moment of weakness, with no one around to witness it, and his head still throbbed with the worst hangover he had suffered from in a very long time. He felt sick to his stomach, mind replaying what had happened over and over. Hopefully, no one would disturb him for a time.

The nightmares he suffered in the dead of night, of a past he loathed and memories he would rather forget, assailed his senses, mingling with the hurt and destruction that he had so willingly caused the night before. He had, for all his care, become the very thing they were fighting against, the very person he loathed with all of his being. He had no excuse, did not want an excuse either, because what he had done was entirely unforgivable. He had stood at a distance, admiring the mage for so long now, and though he knew nothing could ever have come from it his heart ached with knowing that he had nearly destroyed the one person he cared for most, and had most certainly driven the younger man away.

His ability to hold his heaving stomach in check failed, and Cullen heaved, emptying the liquid-contents of his stomach across the floorboards. It helped a little with the nausea, but his mind still plagued him. He remembered his time at the circle, so many years ago, when he was still but a boy. Seeing the wounds that some mages there so often seemed to wear as they scurried to find someone adept in healing magics. Healer mages were a rare breed, and there might only have been two or three in the circle who were capable, though he couldn’t truthfully remember. He had turned a blind eye for so long, walking away from abuses that he could have perhaps prevented, committed he knew by his fellow Templars to the charges they had sworn to protect. He had sworn no oath for Dorian, and yet he knew he would in a heartbeat had the mage asked.

He remembered one mage in particular, the one he had come across again in Kirkwall, the one who was seared into the memories of every man woman and child present, and even those who were not. Anders was younger than he by a few years, and a trouble maker. It had meant the Templars kept a much closer eye on him, and those with ill-intent closer still. The boy was an excellent healer, possibly the best who had lived, and Cullen had caught him on more than one occasion healing injuries that could only have been caused by one particular sort of attack.

He had said nothing. Had done nothing. If he had spoken up, would the mischievous mage with the infuriating grin have turned down the same path? Would he have been able to avert the destruction of the Chantry and so much of the death that had followed? Or would he have been disciplined and cast from the order, a young recruit questioning his elders? It was so long past, and yet he still saw himself as being complicit in Coryphius’ uprising, the foolishness and cowardice of his youth.

Then there had been Kirkwall. The abuses there were far worse than those committed to the mages of the circle tower. He knew then what his fellow Templars were doing, knew of the atrocities they committed, knew how mages were tortured and made tranquil to keep their mouths shut. That he never participated was of little consequence. He was their superior there, and he could have said something, could have _done_ something, and yet he did not. He was a vile and disgusting creature who deserved neither kindness nor forgiveness, and yet somehow the Inquisition had offered him both.

There was so much guilt to contend with, and yet more still as he reasoned that he was not the wounded party and had no right to act so. Stumbling from his bed, Cullen threw on a clean set of undergarments, donned his usual padding for under his armour, and climbed unsteadily down the ladder to his office below. The armour itself he often left by his desk, it being somewhat tricky to climb up the ladder to his bed with it on, and this day was no different. He took his time in attaching each of the many pieces, in no mind to hurry and still feeling the effects of the previous night. He was at his desk when a knock finally sounded at his door and he called for them to enter, voice sounding rather more steady than he himself felt.


	4. Josephine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally one massive chapter, and it is now two chapters! It sorta had a nice, neat split so it made sense to post as two.
> 
> The second part of this will be up once I've proof-read it.

Dorian stood upon the battlements, staring out over the blanket of snow that covered much of the mountain, stretching on as far as the eye could see. Three weeks had passed since the fateful night at the tavern, and not once had he spoken with Cullen since. For the first few days after, he had visited their spot in the garden, waiting at the chessboard for hours at a time in case the man turned up. It was cold, though, and getting colder each passing day. Eventually, he outright stopped waiting, instead spending the time he would have ordinarily spent with the Commander staring out of the window in his little nook in the library, a frown perpetually fixed to his handsome face.

He had seen the blonde, from afar mostly, on more than one occasion. Their eyes would sometimes meet, and Cullen would about face and move in the other direction, getting as far away from the mage as he possibly could. They almost bumped into each other the once, rounding a corner too fast the Commander had been forced to side-step. His attempt at speaking with the man had fallen upon deaf ears, as the blonde blanked him entirely, marching off at speed. It hurt, burned, an ache that would not relent, and yet it did not surprise Dorian in the slightest that his one night stand, former friend, was acting in such a way. It had happened before, and he had survived it before, this time would be no different. Still, he did wish he could go back to the way things were, missing the companionship. Skyhold was not his home and could never be, too many Fereldens and Orlesians throwing Tevinter-hate and mage-hate at him for it to be even remotely homely. He had few friends, and what he had with the Commander had meant so much, to lose it so suddenly had truly left its mark on the mage.

He could hear the clash of swords behind him, and knew Cullen must be training the new recruits in the courtyard below. He did not turn to look, knowing his presence was far from welcome, though from his position it was unlikely the Commander would be able to see him anyway. Still, if this was how Cullen wanted things to be, there was little Dorian could do about it.

“You must be frozen, up here without so much as a cloak.” He hadn’t heard anyone approach, though the mage was able to hide his surprise well. Turning, he found Josephine stood mere feet away, arms crossed over her chest and a slight concerned look upon her face. Her distinctive Antivan lilt gave her away before he laid eyes upon her, and the usual casual smirk had already pulled at the corner of his mouth before she ever had sight of his face.

“I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you mention it, it is rather cold today.” The mage replied, leaning casually against the brickwork. She frowned at him, stepping close enough that she could stand beside the man, before turning to look out over the expansive wilderness. She could, from the corner of her eye, see the smile slip slightly, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes any more. Josephine was not blind, nor was she stupid, and what few things she herself missed Leliana often filled in for her. She knew of the Commander’s avoidance of the mage, and while she had no idea why - he would not speak of it - she could see both men were hurting deeply.

“You have not been yourself of late, Dorian. The Inquisitor has been really quite worried, you know.” Two crows had landed a short distance down, and their loud cries shattered the minor respite that the soldiers down below had managed to glean from the Commander. She knew them to be Leliana’s birds, though why they had landed so close was beyond her. The rumours were that the spymaster used the birds in place of her agents, listening in and reporting back, and such a thing was difficult to wave off as nonsense when the large creatures insisted on watching them.

“The Inquisitor has entirely more important things to concern himself with.” Dorian replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “My moods should be of little consequence in light of Corypheus’ uprising, as he well knows.”

“You are his friend, is it so surprising that he worries for you? Is such a thing so unheard of in Tevinter?” The ambassador knew better than to push too hard, lest the man snap, but Dorian appeared to be near breaking point as it was. She knew that something had to give, and soon.

“Some things have to take priority, and alas I am not one of those things, though I shall vehemently deny I ever said such a thing if you ever repeat it.” There was that smile again, the one that had appeared to be so empty the past few weeks, and it pained her to see the always jovial mage like this. They stood in silence for a good few moments, the clash of swords sounding once more down below, and this time Dorian did turn to look. Josephine did not miss the look of pain on his features as he turned away quickly, regretting his action, wishing he had kept his eyes forward.

“You are hurting, will you not tell me what is wrong?” The Antivan probed gently, laying a gentle hand upon his bare shoulder, the skin there as cold as ice, somewhat pleased when the limb was not shrugged away.

“No, I would rather not, if it’s all the same to you. It is better forgotten.” Dorian stopped trying then, the smile slipping from his lips and not returning, shoulders slumped and back curved, defeated and weak.

“And yet you stand here dwelling on it.” She glanced around for a moment, checking where the guards stood, happy for now at least that they would not likely be disturbed. She doubted that Dorian would want any save those he trusted - and she was truly glad to be among that number - seeing him in such an uncontrolled dour mood.

“You’re not a fan of the whole ‘tortured mage’ look, then? I hear it was all the rage in Kirkwall back in the time of the Champion.” The humour was there, but the accompanying good mood was not, the mage staring out into the snow as though the stark white might hold the answer. He watched as a deer ran out from one of the small clumps of evergreen trees that dotted the landscape, darting across the snow and into another nearby copse. It was rare that they saw wildlife around Skyhold, save birds and the occasional rabbit.

“I prefer regular Dorian, if it’s all the same to you. The one who lifts spirits whenever he enters a room. That Dorian has been suspiciously lacking of late, and I would do what I can to bring him back.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate it, though I may not be overly good at showing my gratitude at times.” He turned to her, then, and there was the flickerings of a genuine smile there. It wasn’t the full grin he usually wore, but it was a start, and she happily returned it.

“Speak with me, if you need to. I will always be here to listen, my friend.” And with that she left him be, glancing herself back over the battlements at the soldiers down below, watching for a moment as the trainees were dismissed, Cassandra taking charge and shooing them away while Cullen stood some distance away looking every bit the lost lamb as the warrior woman returned to his side, looking more than a little angry. She could only hope that the Commander would survive Cassandra’s wrath. The two crows left their position, flapping noisily as they took off, making their way back to the top of the tower.


	5. Cassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love Cass so very much, she needs her own fic soon! Cass and Varric and cuteness!
> 
> But that will not happen for a while yet, so have some Cullen angst instead.

”Enough! This is utterly ridiculous.” Cassandra stood before him, staring up at the Commander, arms crossed and looking more than a little annoyed. One foot was tapping impatiently on the floor, while the recruits behind her half-heartedly swung their swords around, entirely more interested in the antics of their higher-ups than they were in their own training.

“Sorry, what’s ridiculous?” Cullen replied, attention snapping back to the present, wondering when the woman had arrived and how he hadn’t noticed her presence until she was practically in his face.

“This!” She uncrossed her arms for the sole purpose of gesturing at the blonde, up and down, before crossing them once more. Despite being rather shorter than the man, she seemed to stand far taller for once, Cullen’s form hunched within his armour. “You are acting like a love-sick teenager, even the troops have noticed it. Morale is at an all time low because of _you_ and it needs to stop. Right. This. Instant.” She punctuated each word with a finger to his chest, the single digit not enough to move him, though he felt it even through his armour.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” He glanced away, the faintest flush colouring his cheeks as he frowned to himself.

“Oh I’m sure that you do. Do you think me a fool? You either deal with whatever this is, or I relieve you of your command until you are fit to lead again. Which is it to be?”

“I’m not fit to lead our forces anyway.” Cullen mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. There was a momentary flash of pain across his features and Cassandra let her own soften, annoyance waning.

“Is this to do with the lyrium?” She asked quietly, careful not to be overheard. A clash of metal too close and she turned to glare at the gathered recruits who had started to shift towards their position. A barked admonishment and they were easily herded back to the other side of the training yard.

“No, this is...” The Commander pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted and with the starts of another headache. 

“This is what, Cullen? You can’t let whatever this is keep destroying at you like this. You haven’t been eating either, have you?”

“I haven’t been hungry recently, that’s all.” It would be so simple just to blame the lyrium, but Cullen was not a good liar, and even if Cassandra did believe him she would find out the truth eventually regardless. It was a miracle, he thought, that it hadn’t already been passed around Skyhold. He thought for certain Dorian would have said something, to someone, and yet he hadn’t.

“Bullshit.” Cassandra’s mouth drew into a sharp line, and her piercing gaze seemed to cut right through him. He flinched slightly, and her eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline in surprise. “Fine. We figure out a way to get you past this, but first you need to tell me what is actually wrong.” Cullen took a shaky breath and let it go slowly, glancing up at the battlements where he knew Dorian stood, Josephine at his side with her hand upon his shoulder. Good, at least he wasn’t alone up there.

“Do you remember that night in the tavern, about three weeks ago?” The blonde let his gaze move back to Cassandra, and if she had noticed where he had been looking she did not say anything.

“The one where the majority of the Inquisition got overly inebriated and spent the next three days recovering?” Cassandra replied, her expression one of severe disapproval.

“Yes, that one.” He swallowed nervously, heart hammering in his chest, not certain how he was going to explain this, or even if he should, but it was killing him inside and he had no idea what to do. “The next morning, I...I didn’t wake up alone.” The flush across his cheeks had intensified, more from shame than embarrassment, though that was most certainly present too. He had glanced back up at the battlements, and this time Cassandra took notice, turning to see who or what he was staring at.

“Josephine?” She snapped her attention back to the Commander as quick as a striking viper, face twisted in surprise.

“No! Maker no, not Josie.” He looked shocked for a moment, defensive, hands raised as he shook his head in vehement denial.

“Good, because I think Leliana might have you strung up had she found out you slept with our ambassador.” It was no secret that the spymaster had a soft spot for the Antivan, though how far that went remained a mystery.

“I think she’d do more than that, considering what I...” He paused for a moment, swallowing down bile. “What I did.” He could see Cassandra’s mind working away. She glanced back up at the battlements, which seemed to hold so much interest to the man, considering the only people present up there at that point were Josephine and...

“Oh.” Dorian. It was starting to make sense now, though Cullen’s admission concerned her. “Cullen, sleeping with a man is hardly-” Another clash of swords too close, and she turned, dismissing the men in the training yard with enough venom that they all but fled, leaving the two alone. From the corner of her eye she saw Josephine step to the edge of the battlements, and made a mental note to speak with the woman later, once she had chance.

“It’s not just the fact he’s a man.” Cullen replied sombrely, unable to look at the woman as she approached once more.

“You were both drunk, it’s hardly ideal, but it’s done.” Ever sensible, he thought, and had he been in a better place he might have offered her a rueful smile. As it was, he was struggling to keep his emotions in check, feeling the façade begin to crumble around him.

“No, you don’t understand.” The blonde retorted, breathing unsteady and he looked almost as though he might cry. “I hurt him, Cass! I just took what I wanted, and didn’t care how he felt or if he even wanted it.”

“Did he want it?” She asked, voice low and dangerous.

“I don’t know.” Cullen finally admitted, shaking his head. “He didn’t try to stop me, but he was drunk! He couldn’t have stopped me even if he’d wanted to. And, Maker help me, I caused so much damage.”

“Have you spoken to him since?” Cassandra’s tone was not unkind, though he could see the disapproval on her face.

“I can’t, not after what I did. I don’t deserve to even be standing here, much less to actually speak with him.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” She huffed, leading him across the courtyard and over to the steps that led to his office. “He does not deserve the way you have been treating him, either that night or since. What you are doing now is downright cruel and I will not stand for it.”

“But-”

“No. Tomorrow, you will speak with him, or I will lock the both of you in the war room until you do.”

“Cass-”

“This is not a discussion!” Reaching his office, she deposited the Commander in his chair, turned on her heel and left him there, slamming the door behind her. She had an ambassador to find, and fully intended on making sure Cullen ate that night.


	6. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice and short and please don't hate me!

Swords clashed and magic fizzed through the air, setting the hairs on the back of Dorian’s neck on end, though most of the lightning seemed to come from his own staff anyway. Somewhere off in the distance, he could hear Bull’s war cry, the sounds of metal on flesh and the cries of the dying filling his ears. They had been goaded into this confrontation, and it had perhaps not been the wisest course of action, too many of the Inquisition’s forward troops having been cut down by the Templar forces. 

The mage could see the Inquisitor fighting some way ahead, the elf cleaving an impressive path through the enemy, and he didn’t need to see Bull to know the Qunari was likely doing just as much damage from the shouting alone. Cole vanished and reappeared, taking out two men, before vanishing again, and the thud of two arrows into a nearby soldier gave away Varric’s position. The others he had no idea about; Blackwall had disappeared behind a wall of shields, Cassandra and Cullen had not been seen since the fighting had begun, likely over the small ridge that separated them into two groups, and Dorian was starting to wonder exactly why he was the only mage still present.

The battle had been going on for quite some time, since just after dawn in fact, and they were winning, albeit slowly. It was unusual in and of itself for such a large number of Inquisition troops to leave Skyhold for this sort of battle, but the threat had been too near, and it was certainly better to bring the fight to the Templars rather than risk the innocent lives of the non-combatants back at the castle. It would, perhaps, have been a better idea to bring more soldiers with them, but they had not anticipated that the Templar forces would be quite so expansive, and many of the soldiers that had been left behind were mere rookies, new recruits who could barely swing a blade.

Two Templars approached from the front, the first swinging a greatsword around which he easily dodged, conjuring a ring of fire around the man and drawing it in to burn him alive. The second leapt at the mage, slashing at him, shield in hand to defend against Dorian’s attacks. He managed to throw up a barrier just in time to deflect what would have been a deadly blow to his chest, the sword clattering away leaving the Templar unarmed. Blood and gore had coated the rough shingle on the ground below, and even as he stepped away from the man before him, readying his next attack as he dodged away from a shield blow, his foot slipped from under him. The ground approached at an astonishingly fast pace, but the shield was faster yet, clipping him around the head before he collided with the earth.

“ _Dorian!_ ” Cullen’s voice, unmistakably, all but screaming at the mage. _Yes, I’m right here, there’s no need to shout so, Commander_ , but all that came out of his mouth was a quiet gurgle. Another crossbow bolt flew past, the Templar falling, dead, before he had chance to retrieve his blade. Excellent, Dorian thought, he would have to thank Varric later for that, and then he knew no more.


	7. Never go in against a Dwarf when Love is on the line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't be so mean as to leave that last chapter for very long without continuing...

He was awake. In a substantial amount of pain and unsure of exactly he found his way back to his own bed, but still awake. Dorian groaned, moving to grip his forehead as he sat up, finding that it had been quite thoroughly bandaged and was therefore unreachable, which was most annoying considering the spreading itch from underneath the white strips of cloth.

“Good to see you’re back among the living, Sparkler.” Varric chuckled as he closed the door behind him, a fresh jug of water in his hand which he placed upon the night stand, before dragging the singular chair in the room around to face the mage, settling himself in it and steepling his fingers.

“I wasn’t aware I had been visiting the dead.” Dorian replied, raising an eyebrow at the dwarf.

“It’s the necromancy thing, gives people the wrong idea.”

“Ah yes, of course, the uneducated masses and their fear of anything they don’t understand.” Dorian rolled his eyes, dragging the pillow over from the other side of the bed and using it to prop himself up, letting out a small sigh as he sunk into the soft feathers.

“You have to admit, it’s hardly as pleasant as kittens or flower arranging.” The dwarf laughed softly.

“No, you have me there.” The mage chuckled, sitting up once more and pulling the coverlet from the end of the bed to wrap around his own shoulders to keep out the mountain chill. “Since we both know you have rather the penchant for storytelling, mind letting me know what happened?”

“Guessing you don’t remember much, not surprising. You remember the battle?” Dorian nodded at the dwarf. “Well, we won, and you took a Templar shield to the head. You’ve been out cold for almost four days now.”

“Four days?” Dorian asked, aghast at the revelation.

“Yeah, quite a bad concussion, and man was there a lot of blood! You had Curly in pieces, he really thought you were dead, none of us have ever seen him that bad before.”

“He was worried? For me?” The mage’s brows knitted together in confusion, something in his chest doing flip-flops.

“Well yeah, either you or some other Tevinter mage named Dorian.” Varric leaned forward, corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at the look of disbelief on the mage’s face. “See, that’s a story I’m interested in hearing. What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing, as far as I was aware.” Despite the casual shrug and flippant remark, Dorian could not help the slight flush that bloomed over his cheeks at being held in such scrutiny.

“Well, it’s something as far as Curly’s concerned, he’s not left your side since it happened.”

“And yet here he is, suspiciously absent.” The mage gestured to the room at large, and quickly pulled his hands back under the coverlet, wondering if perhaps a window had been left open somewhere with how cold it was.

“Not of his own choice, I’ll tell you that.” Varric shook his head in amusement, as though this whole thing was one great joke to him, and perhaps it was. “He hasn’t slept at all, and was practically delirious by the time Nightingale shoved a sleeping draught down his throat. Last I saw of him, Tiny was carrying him off, fast asleep. He’ll be back later, I’d bet coin on it.”

“Are you telling me that the Commander was so concerned for my well-being that he has maintained a constant vigil for _four days_ without sleep?” Dorian asked incredulously, before shaking his head in disbelief. “And that he had to be _drugged_ in order to remove him? Are we talking about the same man?”

“Unless you know of any other handsome ex-Templars hired to lead the Inquisition’s forces, then yes, I’m fairly certain we’re talking about the same person.”

“He is, most certainly, handsome.” The man agreed with a thoughtful nod of his head, looking somewhat wistful for a moment.

“So you admit there _is_ something going on!” Varric crowed triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear.

“I admit nothing. Except for the fact that I am rather famished at this precise moment in time, any chance of something to eat?” He had been caught in a flight of fancy and he knew it. Cursing himself the mage could do nothing but shift the topic of conversation, knowing full well that it would not be enough to get Varric to drop it.

“No can do, Sparkler. Orders from the top, you’re not to eat anything until someone looks you over.” The dwarf barely hid his amusement at the entitled whine that slipped from the mage’s throat in protest, a spoilt child in the body of a man.

“And when might that be?”

“Well, they’ve only just left, so I guess you lucked out there.” At Dorian’s glare he laughed, patting the mage’s knee through the blankets. “Don’t you worry, it shouldn’t be long.”

“So how did you end up stuck with the enviable task of watching me sleep.” Dorian asked with a sigh, looking slightly dejected.

“I volunteered for it.” Varric replied simply, as though it was the most natural thing imaginable.

“You volunteered to watch me sleep? That is most admirable of you, if slightly unnerving.”

“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds creepy.” That infectious laugh again, and anything resembling a bad mood left Dorian immediately. “Seriously though, I was just curious, what could have made the Commander react like that? He wasn’t about to tell me, so I figured I’d better ask you.”

“Surely that could have waited?” The mage asked incredulously, wondering how much of the dwarf’s presence was down to concern for his well-being, and how much was his insatiable curiosity in the lives of those around him. He suspected the latter probably overtook the former by several leagues, but with Varric one could never truly tell.

“What can I say? I’m impatient where a good story is concerned. You know, he carried you all the way back to Skyhold? Pretty sure that fur he insists on wearing is completely ruined. Wouldn’t let anyone else touch you, except to bandage your head, I’ve never seen him so...” Varric paused for a moment, pondering his next few words. “Possessive, I suppose. It’s the talk of Skyhold at the moment, you and the Commander.”

“Oh Maker.” Dorian pulled his hands down his face, groaning at the knowledge he was the Inquisition’s latest cause for gossip. “He won’t be happy about that.”

“He doesn’t seem to care at the moment, what makes you think it would upset him, having people know about you two?”

“Well let me think; firstly, there is no ‘us two’.” The mage’s hands appeared from under the blankets, just enough that Varric could see them, as he counted each point off on his fingers. “Secondly, he can barely stand the sight of me. Thirdly, and fairly importantly, he has been avoiding me for weeks. I’ve had to resort to playing chess with one of the parlour maids - she’s very good, by the way.” Dorian tried once more to run his fingers through his hair, letting loose a frustrated growl when once again he could not. “I had just about come to terms with the fact that he finds my presence utterly loathsome, and you come along and try to shatter that illusion.”

“Hey, if there are any illusions to be shattered, they’re the ones you’ve built up yourself.” At the look Dorian threw him, Varric just sighed. “Alright, don’t believe me then. Give it a few hours and he’ll be back by your side, mark my words.”

“And if you’re wrong?” The mage’s eyes glinted dangerously, sensing something interesting brewing in Varric’s mind. He was not a gambling man, not unless he was entirely certain he was going to win, but on this he was certain to walk away the victor.

“If I’m wrong, which I’m not by the way just so you can’t call foul play later on, then I’ll don one of Ruffles’ dresses and propose my undying love to Blackwall.” The dwarf’s eyes narrowed then, and his mouth split into a wicked grin. “And if I’m right, you play the starring role in my next masterpiece.”

“That sounds fair.” Dorian nodded amicably.

“ _And_ you have to personally sign the first release as part of the foreword.”

“Fine.” Dorian agreed through pursed lips, the pair shaking on their bet. Varric stood to leave, throwing the mage one final grin and a wave goodbye as a medic entered the room, stepping outside before she could usher him away, entirely too pleased with himself.


	8. The First Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter caused me pain to write, because it just wasn't working for me! Almost done now, the end is in sight :)

By the time Cullen finally awoke, night had fallen. He was thankful for the candle that had been left burning in the sconce on the wall, though the moon above let enough light through the hole in his roof that it wasn’t entirely required. The flame glowed with a green hue, and gave out no heat. He assumed one of the mages must have placed it there for him, though he struggled to think which would want to do so. Rolling out of bed, mind still clogged with the aftermath of the sleeping draught Leliana had all but forced down his throat, he tugged on a pair of casual breeches and a clean tunic before downing half of the water jug he kept by his bedside, the stale taste of day-old water making him wince.

The night air was cold, but not freezing, and the cloak about his shoulders did much to keep the chill from his bones. Making his way across the deserted couryard to the main castle, only one destination in mind, the Commander noted the two or three pairs of eyes regarding him from the shadows and yet paid them no heed. One belonged to a cat, of that much he knew, the yellow slitted eyes watching him reproachfully. The others he felt more than saw, though they posed him no threat and so he simply passed them by.

The hallways of the main castle were, as always, warmer than his own office and bedroom. The holes in the walls and ceiling here were long since repaired, and the fireplaces in most rooms were lit throughout the day and on occasion through the night as well, depending on who was using them at the time. Dorian’s room was just up ahead, colder than the others as requested by the medics who stated he needed to be kept cool yet not cold, to ensure he did not dehydrate. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, light from the window cast an eerie glow about the room, lighting up the large, plush bed and the mage situated upon it, sleeping peacefully. Cullen pushed the door shut behind him, as quietly as he could manage, the latch clicking into place. He noted that the chair had been moved, closer to the bed than he had left it, and he wondered for a moment who might have been keeping watch. Whoever it was, they were long gone; the seat was cold enough that he could feel it through the fabric of his clothing, cloak pulled around to serve as a blanket against the chill of the night air as he kept watch.

In the soft glow of the moonlight, Dorian appeared almost ethereal, draped across stark-white pillows and with bandages masking his dark hair, the mage almost seemed to glow, olive skin shimmering in the moon beams that draped softly across his face. He was utterly resplendent, and for the thousandth time Cullen found himself cursing his own stupidity in not simply telling the man how he had felt all those months previous.

Morning broke and, despite himself, Cullen had dozed off once more. The remnants of the sleeping draught were still in his system, and he could not continue to fight their effects, amplified by his brisk walk across the castle grounds. He was still snoring softly in the chair when Dorian awoke, suddenly very much aware that he was not alone. Rolling over, he blinked, sleep-fogged eyes resting upon the sleeping form of the Commander in the chair Varric had last occupied. It seemed that the dwarf was not wrong about one thing at least; Cullen had returned, of his on volition from the looks of things.

Rolling out of bed, head surprisingly pain-free considering his recent injury and almost week-long stint in a comatose state, Dorian stood over the blonde for a short while, staring down at him, studying the handsome face relaxed in sleep and with none of the usual concerns the man carried upon his two strong shoulders. The cloak had slipped down as the man dozed, and was now pooled upon his lap, and although the chill in the air did not seem to be bothering the sleeping Commander overly much, Dorian still bent to retrieve the heavy fabric, tucking it around Cullen’s shoulders so he would not catch a chill.

The movement must have roused the Commander, as when Dorian looked back up at the man’s face, he found a pair of soulful brown eyes staring back at him. He was caught for a moment, breath stolen away by the depth of that expression, heart skipping a beat. One of the blonde’s pale hands lifted, cloak sliding from the limb as it gently cupped the mage’s cheek.

“You’re awake.” Cullen’s expression was one of sheer relief, thumb tracing over the corner of Dorian’s mouth, grazing over his moustache in delicate reverence.

Dorian was so taken aback by the Commander’s response, and his open and genuine concern, that all he managed was a quiet “I am.” before pulling reluctantly away to seat himself upon the edge of the bed, the chair close enough that their knees almost touched.

“I really thought you might die, I thought I might lose you before I had chance to...well, to talk.”

“You have had ample opportunity to speak with me Commander, and from what I remember you spurned each chance given to you.” Dorian replied, before falling into a tight-lipped silence.

“I know, the way I’ve treated you has been...”

“Barbaric?” He cut in, helpfully.

“Yes, no less than that. I’ve been unworthy of your sight these past weeks, and...Maker!” Upon this exclamation, the Commander pushed the chair back and fell to one knee before the mage, clasping one of Dorian’s hands. “Can you ever forgive me?” A thought came to him, unbidden, upon seeing the blonde like that; to anyone who walked in at that moment, it would appear that the Commander was proposing to him, and despite his annoyance the mage could not help but smirk at the thought. That smirk turned into a low chuckle, which then warped into outright laughter. Cullen simply stared up at him, confused, not certain what had amused the man so.

“My dearest Commander, I do rather think you might well be the death of me one of these days.” Dorian gulped, tears of mirth glistening at his eyes. “Yes, you are forgiven, now please get up before someone gets the wrong idea.” Particularly if that someone happened to be a certain nosey dwarf.

“I have so much to do to make even a fraction of this right, I’m not even certain where to begin.” Cullen admitted, standing from his spot on the floor, though he seemed somewhat reluctant to release the hand he held within his own. “But I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, and all I can think to do is offer you what I have.”

“What are you babbling about?” Dorian asked in confusion, looking up at the determined blonde, the angle making his head throb once more.

“I am yours, for as long as you see fit and for whatever purpose you choose, on the understanding that it doesn’t interfere with my work for the Inquisition.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. What could possibly require such a level of atonement? Such a thing would be unheard of in Tevinter, unless the alternative was death.”

“I took something from you that wasn’t freely given.” Cullen replied, voice laced with such shame that Dorian could not help the look of surprise that crossed his features. “I can’t ever make it right, but I can at least do this.”

“You took- Cullen, are you referring to the night at the tavern?” He stared up at the older man from beneath knitted brows, confusion fleeing in the wake of horrified awareness. Cullen nodded at that, swallowing thickly around a lump in his throat. “I gave myself freely that night, why in Andraste’s name would you think otherwise?”

“You were drunk, you wouldn’t have been able to stop me.”

“I’m offended that you think so lowly of my abilities, Commander.” Dorian stood then, facing the other man, forcing Cullen to look him in the eye. “If I had not wanted what transpired, then you would have been unconscious in the corner before you had time to so much as blink. No, I very much wanted you, dear Cullen, and while your behaviour the past few weeks does require a certain amount of recompense, don’t you dare apologise to me for something I both wanted and enjoyed.”

“But the bruises...”

“Are long healed.” He lifted his bare wrist so Cullen could see the flawless olive skin there, any marks long gone. “And really, much as your need to mark your territory is actually rather arousing, I’d prefer it if you limited your attentions to the areas I tend to keep covered up, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I just don’t know if I can forgive myself for what I did to you.”

“Then let me be the one to do the forgiving, as the apparently wounded party.” He instantly regretted his choice of words when Cullen winced, the memory of the cuts and bruises that had marred his upper body apparently still very prominent in the man’s mind. “And you can start atoning for your apparent ‘sins’ by removing these Maker-forsaken bandages for me so I can assess the damage. They are unbelievably irritating! I have an itch on my temple that I haven’t been able to scratch, and if I don’t get access to it soon I cannot be held accountable for my actions.” Dorian huffed, resuming his place on the bed while Cullen hovered over him, unwrapping the expertly fastened strips of cloth from around the mage’s damaged head.

“It doesn’t look too bad.” Cullen mused as the last of the bandages fell to the floor, running gentle fingers over the raised and reddened skin around the inch-long cut marring the mage’s otherwise perfect forehead. He was careful not to touch the still very angry-looking gash, and Dorian sighed softly, eyelids fluttering closed at the sensation, suddenly aware of how tired he was, and how cold. He struggled to suppress a yawn, and it did not go unnoticed. “Look, it’s still early, why don’t you get a few more hours sleep? I’ll keep watch over you.”

“Nonsense.” Dorian huffed, though he climbed back into bed without protest. “You will do no such thing. I have no need for a guard, thank you very much, so you can either leave or find something to amuse yourself with.” He was almost surprised when the blonde chose not to assist in the task of tugging the covers up around his shoulders.

“Would you rather I left?” The Commander asked, and while there was no real intent there, Dorian got the feeling he was teetering on the brink of something important.

“No, I would rather you took up the spare half of this bed, but I’m not about to force you into such a thing. Do as you please.” The mage rolled over at that, back to the blonde, waiting for Cullen to make his decision. His heart hammered in his chest, knowing that if the man chose to walk away at this point, he had won his bet with Varric and yet lost so much more.

“And if I want to?” His voice was almost hesitant, low yet not meek, and Dorian had to wonder whether Cullen was capable of meekness at all, despite his easily flustered nature.

“Then I would enjoy the company.” Dorian replied, almost conversationally, as though asking Cullen for join him for a game of chess. It was enough, though, and they spent much of the rest of the day together in amicable silence or the familiar pull of sleep.


	9. Familiarity

Cullen, it seemed, did not want to go back to his own quarters. It was never discussed, and yet over the following weeks and months, more and more of the Commander’s belongings were making their way into Dorian’s room. It started with a spare set of clothes, and then a hair brush. More clothes then followed, a handful of books, and a writing set that the mage thought he might try to commandeer for himself, considering how nice it was. Really, he did not mind so much, the company was much appreciated and Cullen was slowly but surely learning to forgive himself over what had happened.

“My darling Commander, why is there a sword under the bed?” Dorian sighed, dragging the oversized lump of metal out from under the wooden frame. He had been looking for one of his boots, the thing having disappeared on him the previous night, when he had come across the heavy weapon stashed under their shared bed.

“It was late, I didn’t want to walk all the way back to the storehouse to put it away.” Cullen replied cheerfully, lacing up his breeches before sitting on the edge of the bed to don his boots.

“Yes, but why did you have it up here in the first place? It’s entirely enormous!” The thing clattered to the floor as the mage dropped it, more to prove his point than out of any sort of weakness. The sword was heavy, but he was still more than capable of carrying it.

“I’m flattered.” The blonde quipped, before realising what he had said and turning a delightful shade of red. Dorian could not help the bark of laughter that burst from his chest at the man’s reply, the heavy flush making the situation all the more amusing.

“My, my. I do believe I may possibly be rubbing off on you.” Dorian smirked, climbing back onto the bed and crawling over to his companion, blade forgotten upon the floor.

“Most nights, in fact.” Cullen replied with a cheeky grin, despite the fact that his face was still flaming. He let himself be pulled back down onto the bed, curling protectively around the younger man, letting Dorian nuzzle and nip at his neck, perfectly curled moustache tickling at the skin there.

“And here I thought you’d gone and misplaced that sense of humour of yours.” The mage chided gently, pleasantly warm in the larger man’s embrace, enjoying the press of the Commander’s bare chest even though he himself was near fully dressed. “Can we not stay here? I don’t particularly fancy mingling with Orlesians today.” He whined, pouting slightly.

“You know we haven’t got a choice. The Inquisitor needs our input, and we both know he hates Val Royeaux as much as you do.” He had to admit, if only privately and to himself, Dorian’s idea of remaining behind certainly did appeal. Said mage had moved up from his neck and was placing teasing kisses along his jawline, which really was far too distracting considering he was supposed to be dressing himself. “Besides, it gives me an opportunity to buy you something nice.” The blonde chipped in, expecting the pillow that flew with speed towards his face and blocking it with a short laugh.

“I am not some maid to be wooed with pretty trinkets.” The mage snapped, though when Cullen rolled on top of him he stopped protesting quite so much, the heavy weight of the other man pinning him down as he found his lips captured in a gentle kiss.

“And yet the last time you visited the Dales without me, you brought me back an elvish trinket box, which is very pretty by the way.” Cullen teased, gazing adoringly down at the mage, the tips of their noses touching. With unexpected force, Dorian rolled them, and Cullen found himself quite successfully pinned below the younger man.

“Which I suppose makes you the maid, and I the one doing the wooing?” A raised eyebrow and a quirk of the corner of his mouth, and Dorian allowed any brewing agitation to melt away, finding he rather liked this position for once. He had both of the Commander’s legs pinned, along with one of his wrists, and had it not been for the impending knock on the door, the one they both knew was coming, then he might well have taken it further.

“I suppose it does.” Cullen agreed, in part to placate the mage, and in part because he had no real reason or inclination to argue. In truth, the thought of Dorian attempting to win his heart set butterflies racing in his stomach, despite the fact that the mage had won it many moons past.

The knock on the door came, as expected, and neither man was any closer to being dressed by the time Cassandra opened the door and glared at the pair on the bed. “As much as I’m glad to see you finally getting along, if you are not both dressed and at the front gate within the hour, I will see to it that you will be on stable cleaning duty until _next spring!_ ” She slammed the door behind her as she left, so viciously in fact that the candles trembled in the sconces that adorned the walls. Dorian glanced down at his blonde lover, who in turn glanced up into the mage’s eyes. The grin they shared held a certain amount of amusement, though was mainly one of reluctant acceptance.

“Cleaning out the stables might not be so bad.” Dorian tried hopefully, albeit without much conviction.

“The Inquisitor just got himself a dracolisk, trust me when I say you really don’t want to clean up after that thing.” The Commander replied, rolling Dorian off him with a sigh and trying to locate the padded tunic he wore under his armour, not entirely certain where they had flung it the previous night.

“You never did answer me regarding the sword, why is it up here?” He had found his boot and, after tugging the thing on, had made his way over to the long mirror hanging on the wall, making sure that he was entirely presentable.

“I was polishing it.” The Commander replied innocently. Dorian was in the middle of applying wax to keep his moustache perfectly curled when the response came, and he froze entirely. Slowly, the mage turned to stare at his blonde companion.

“You couldn’t return to the storehouse, because you were polishing your sword?” Came the deadpan reply. Silence followed for a heartbeat. Neither of the two men could stop the peals of laughter that engulfed them, and it took them most of the allotted hour to make their way, still smirking, down to the castle gates.


	10. Amatus

A knock sounded at the bedroom door, rousing both men, Dorian letting loose a low groan while Cullen simply grumbled softly to himself and rolled over. They had been back at Skyhold for a mere three days, and both men were still making up for the time lost; intimacy is so much more difficult when sharing a tent with two other men, neither of whom knew about their fledgling relationship. The knock sounded again, more insistent this time, and the mage forced open one sleepy eye to regard his bed companion. Cullen was steadfastly refusing to open his eyes, and seemed unlikely to move any time soon. “Aren’t you going to get that?” Dorian finally asked, drowsiness still very clear in his voice.

“This is your bedroom.” Cullen replied with a grunt, dragging his pillow over his head as the knock sounded for a third time. “Plus, you’re closer to the door.”

“But you’re meant to be my knight, protecting me and whatever else it was you said.” The mage whined, shuffling closer to the other man, loathe to give up the comforting warmth of their bed.

“Not at this time in the morning from intruders who have the common decency to knock.” The Commander’s voice was muffled from under the feathery pillow that had become his own, and while he did not pull away from the wriggling mage, he did not encourage him either.

“Well, on your head be it if something horrible happens to me three feet from our bed.” With an irritated noise in the back of his throat, Dorian shuffled out of bed, lacking any of his usual decorum or grace.

“I think I can live with that.”

“You’re a terrible knight.” The mage pouted, pulling on the first pair of breeches he came across - not his own, he noted distantly - so as to not startle their visitor with an eyeful of Tevinter mage.

“Only when you keep me up until after sunrise.” Dorian laughed at that, pulling the door open to see who had deigned to disturb them. Varric grinned up at the mage, who groaned in slight annoyance, before turning and climbing back into bed, leaving the door open for the dwarf to enter.

“It is entirely too early for this, Varric.” He grumbled as he pulled the covers back up and shuffled backwards until he found Cullen. The blonde threw a protective arm over the mage, nuzzling into his neck, pillow still half-covering his flushed face.

“It’s past noon.” The dwarf replied, shutting the door behind him. “I got bored of waiting, so thought I’d come pay you two love birds a visit.” He was grinning at the sight on the bed, Cullen barely visible from his vantage point, though he wasn’t entirely certain he really wanted to see more than the muscled arm considering the man was likely in something of a state of undress.

“How lovely. Now you’ve visited, so can I resume sleeping, or was there something you specifically wanted?” His voice was laced with sarcasm and a certain amount of venom, though that fact only seemed to make Varric grin wider, until Dorian was sure the dwarf’s face was likely to split in two.

“I believe we had a deal, Sparkler. I simply came to collect.” Dorian stiffened at that, back going rigid, enough that Cullen cracked open one eye and finally pushed the pillow away.

“I hadn’t forgotten.” The mage replied tersely, throwing Varric a glare. “I do think your timing is rather poor, though. You could at least have waited until after I’ve had breakfast.”

“Good luck getting breakfast at this hour.” Varric snorted, gently but firmly placing a thick, bound book upon the nightstand, before turning to leave. “Have a read, see what you think. I’ll be back to collect it once you’ve signed it. Fourth page, if you please, just after the foreword. You’ll see where it’s meant to go.” He let the door close behind him, just in time to hear the thud of a pillow on the other side, chuckling to himself as he made his way back to the great hall.

“What was that all about?” Cullen asked with a yawn, finally rolling over and rubbing his eyes to remove the build up of sleep there, as Dorian sat up and grabbed the professionally-bound manuscript.

“I made a bet with Varric, months ago now, and it seems I lost.” The mage sighed, flicking open the book and quickly skim-reading the first few pages. The foreword was straight forward enough; written in a style that could have been his own, aside from a few small nuances, and meant to have been penned by his own hand. He could live with that, and the words were not overly defamatory. Varric could have done a lot worse, he surmised.

“A bet?” The blonde was suddenly interested, propping himself up on one elbow as he tried to read the small text. “What were you betting, and how did you lose?”

“He was adamant that you had feelings for me. I...incorrectly assumed otherwise.” Without closing the book, he turned to gaze down at the blonde, free hand moving to rub gently through short curls and down to follow the sharp jawline. “At that time, I truly believed you viewed me only with disdain, and perhaps pity. I have never been so glad to have been wrong.”

“I see.” The Commander replied slowly, sitting up so he could face the mage. “I can’t really blame you for thinking that, I was...not exactly kind to you.”

“A misunderstanding, nothing more.” Dorian waved away the concern, only glancing up from the book when Cullen remained seated, watching him intently. “Are you quite alright?” The man seemed to be warring with himself over something, cheeks flushed and with such an intense look on his face that for a moment the mage was nervous.

“Dorian,” He started, pausing for a moment and taking a trembling breath. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you for a while now.” 

“Go on.” The mage closed the book in his lap with a loud snap, heart dropping into his stomach as he was suddenly aware of every word coming from the blonde’s mouth. He had lived through this conversation so many times in the past; ‘I’ve found someone else’ or ‘it just isn’t working out’. The worst was always ‘you’re a man, I can’t be with you’, and he had known it would come eventually, he had just hoped it wouldn’t be for some time yet. He was happy with Cullen, truly happy, in a way he had never experienced before, and selfish as he was he wanted to hold onto that for as long as he could.

“I love you.” Cullen had taken hold of one of his hands, was holding it so reverently, and yet Dorian seemed entirely unaware. His eyes had widened, mouth open slightly in pure shock, and it seemed as though his eyebrows might disappear into his hairline. It was not the admission he was expecting and he was, surprisingly, lost for words.

“I...you...what?” He just stared at the blonde, who seemed more than a little uncomfortable, clearly not anticipating Dorian’s shocked response and unsure of exactly what he should do.

“I love you. I’m _in_ love with you.” Cullen managed to tug the book away and toss it to the foot of the bed, moving to straddle the mage’s lap so he might be closer to the other man. “Is that really so surprising?” He asked gently, raising the hand he still held in his own to gently kiss the knuckles, maintaining eye contact as he did.

“Well, yes, actually.” As matter of fact as his answer may have been, Dorian could not help but melt slightly at the touch of lips to his hand, or the sincere expression on his lover’s face. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me and meant it. That is, assuming you mean it, which I’m guessing that you do considering I’m not certain you even know what an untruth is.”

“Dorian, you’re babbling, love.” He felt the shiver pass through the mage at the unexpected term of endearment, and it drew a small quirk from the corner of his lips.

“Yes, I am rather, aren’t I?” He laughed dryly, his free hand moving, seemingly of its own accord, to rest on the Commander’s hip. “I think, perhaps, there is a chance that I could grow to rather like the idea. In time. With practice.”

“Would you like me to help you practice?” At Dorian’s slow nod, he grinned, brown eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight, leaning in to nip at the mage’s ear. “I love you.” He whispered, and the words carried such heartfelt conviction that neither man could deny that it was true.

“And I love you, my Amatus.”


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised smut, here is the smut! And we have reached our final chapter, I hope you have all enjoyed the ride.

The bedroom was surprisingly quiet when Dorian returned that evening. He was tired and his hand had begun to cramp from signing so many copies of that Maker-damned book. When he had agreed to it, he hadn’t been aware of just how many copies a ‘first printing’ entailed. The worst part was walking back through Skyhold afterwards, seeing just how many people were carrying copies of the thing, and knowing he was likely to be ridiculed for weeks, if not months, for having any part in the thing. He could see Cassandra already leafing through her copy, and to his utmost horror even Bull was seen carrying one. No, he was not going to have a pleasant few weeks, that much was certain.

“Amatus?” He asked quietly, the figure upon the bed not having moved at his arrival. Cullen looked up, wide eyed, and that was when the mage noticed the open book upon his lap. “Not you too.” The mage groaned, flopping bodily on his side of the bed, not bothering to so much as remove his boots.

“You never said your bet involved _me_.” The Commander squeaked, voice rather more high pitched than usual, and he was flushed heavily.

“Of course I did, you were the reason I lost.” Dorian huffed, looking somewhat confused.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Cullen pushed the open book under the mage’s nose, letting him take the tome, reading quickly.

_‘-gasped softly as the Templar pushed him up against the wall, blonde curls reflecting the low lamp light. “Someone might see.” The mage whimpered, even as he let one firm thigh spread his legs, earning a wicked laugh from the Templar he had heard them call Callum.’_

“Venhedis!” The mage swore, slamming the book shut. “I am going to _kill_ that dwarf.” He made to stand, finding a firm hand upon his wrist and a pleading gaze meeting with his own. Before he could ask what the matter was, Cullen had pulled him back up the bed, their lips meeting in a desperate kiss. From his position atop the blonde, Dorian could feel the hard and insistent press of the man’s shaft through his breeches, and he pulled back in surprise.

“Dorian, _please_.” He whined, low in his throat, already working on the many clasps and buckles that held the mage’s robes in place.

“I had no idea you had a thing for smutty literature.” Dorian laughed, finally taking pity on the man and working loose his robes, shrugging them off.

“Only when said literature happens to star my boyfriend.” The Commander replied, too busy nipping at the mage’s collarbone to notice the slight shock upon the younger man’s face, or the impossibly pleased smile that followed.

“Well then, _Callum_ , how do you plan on ravishing me?” He asked teasingly, pulling Cullen’s tunic off over his head, displacing the blonde curls.

“I hadn’t got that far yet, _Darien_.” The Commander laughed, earning a displeased grunt from the mage.

“Darien? Really? I’m sure he’s not even trying any more.” He huffed, lapping at one of Cullen’s exposed nipples and earning a low, throaty groan from his lover. As Cullen writhed beneath him, the mage grinned, his mind conjuring up a wicked idea. Reaching over, he grabbed the book, quickly leafing through to find the page Cullen had made him read.

“What..?” The blonde found his hands suddenly occupied by parchment and leather, as the book was forcibly shoved between them.

“Read.” Dorian commanded, nipping gently at his lover’s chest. “Aloud, if you please.” He went back to torturing one of Cullen’s nipples, delighting in the string of whines and cries he could draw from the man.

“T-the-” Cullen swallowed, voice shaking and body screaming for Dorian to simply _touch him_ , but his lover had made a request and he intended to follow through. “ _The mage cried out as a rough hand fondled him a bit too hard, the sound lost in a solid kiss from chapped lips. Darien could hardly breathe as Callum slid one calloused hand into his robes, past his breeches to grip at his hardening flesh._ ” Dorian was nipping and licking a trail down his stomach, hands holding his hips firmly in place, thumbs torturously close to the throbbing need still held behind a layer of cloth.

“Continue, Amatus.” Dorian hummed, sliding his hands up to grip at the tops of the Commander’s breeches, simply hovering there and drawing a low whimper from the older man.

“Maker, Dorian, I’m not sure I can.” He gasped, wriggling slightly to try to get the mage to move, to do something, but Dorian remained steadfastly still.

“Try, for me?”

“F-fine.” Swallowing down the waver in his voice, Cullen picked the book back up, and sure enough Dorian began to slide his breeches off his hips, freeing up more skin to be nipped and kissed. “ _Callum shucked off his own belt, the leather and iron falling to the ground with a loud clatter. If no one had heard them before, they surely would now. Before Darien knew what was happening, the Templar had forced him to his knees, and the mage recruit knew what he had to do. With trembling fingers, he freed the man’s large cock, the end already dripping, Callum’s excitement tangible. “That’s it, good boy.” A broad hand found its way to the back of his head, guiding his mouth to the purple tip, which Darien took between his lips willingly._ ” Cullen cried out as his own shaft was suddenly engulfed in Dorian’s hot mouth, the mage sucking hard before pulling off with a wet pop.

“You stopped again.” The mage purred, nuzzling at the pulsing length, tongue flicking out to lick precum from the tip.

“Sorry, love.” Cullen all but whined, resuming reading as the mage took his hard cock between his lips once more, sucking gently. “ _His experienced mouth worked at the hard flesh, sucking at it, making the Templar moan appreciatively. It wasn’t long before Callum could feel his orgasm approaching, and dragged the young mage off his shaft before he could reach his peak, pulling him up to kiss him roughly. “Not like this.” He growled, turning Darien around to face the wall. “I’m going to make this good for you.” He tugged the mage’s breeches down to his knees, pushing the long robes out of the way to get a better view of the other man’s posterior._

 _“Let me.” Darien whimpered softly, hand glowing as he used his magic to conjure forth a pool of slick within his palm, using it to insert one finger and then two, spreading his legs as far as the loose fabric around his knees would allow, stretching himself open as he did. Callum barely waited for the man to remove his fingers before his dripping cock was pushed against the tight entrance, surging forward to-_ ” Cullen was cut off as a wanton cry pulsed from his throat, the book falling back down onto the bed as he stared down at Dorian, stripped naked and entirely sheathed on his length, panting heavily and with sweat beading upon his brow. As he watched, the mage drew himself up and slammed back down with a carnal moan, repeating the action, drawing all breath from the Commander’s chest as he watched. He could not help the thrust of his hips up into the tight heat, hands upon Dorian’s slim hips, book long-since forgotten.

“More, Amatus, _Cullen_!” The mage wailed, his own shaft bobbing between them as he rode the Commander hard. It was possibly the most erotic sight that Cullen had ever witnessed, but he could do little more from his position to give Dorian what he needed. Reaching up, he pulled the mage down, their lips meeting. In their new position, he was able to plant both of his feet upon the bed, using the new leverage to piston up into his lover, one arm wrapped around Dorian’s waist while the other pumped at the man’s dripping cock, drawing wanton moans from his sinful lips.

“Come for me.” He growled into Dorian’s ear, unsure on how he had managed to keep his voice steady considering how close he was to his own release. With a loud wail, the mage did as commanded, streams of white coating Cullen’s chest and hand as his orgasm hit, thrusting violently as pleasure overtook him and he rode out his release. The blonde continued to thrust shallowly into his lover, even as Dorian’s tight internal muscles bore down on him, coaxing him towards completion. His own cry was rather more strangled, yet no less loud, as he buried himself to the hilt and emptied himself within the tight channel.

“Amatus.” Dorian allowed himself to collapse on top of the blonde, loosing a low moan and a shudder as Cullen’s softening cock slipped out of his body, feeling the hot release begin to trickle out.

“And you said I was the one with a thing for dirty literature.” Cullen hummed, still shuddering slightly, basking in the afterglow as Dorian curled up against his side.

“You are, I have no interest in smutty stories.” The mage confirmed with a yawn, kicking the book to the floor. “Your voice, however, is undeniably erotic and I would have you talk dirty to me continually, if I could.”

“Ah, I see.” He replied with a wicked grin. “That is something I shall have to remember.” Had he not been so spent, the blonde would likely have used that little piece of knowledge to his advantage, but that would have to wait for another time it seemed as he hummed happily, letting his eyelids flutter closed, Dorian already slumbering at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at syrum.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr; http://syrum.tumblr.com/


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